


Of Infinite Time and Night

by Ias



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hell, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Soulless Sam Winchester, Tumblr: fuckyeahsamlucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." <i>John Milton, Paradise Lost. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Infinite Time and Night

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution the [FYSL](http://fuckyeahsamlucifer.tumblr.com/) exchange for [dylanobrienshappytrail](http://dylanobrienshappytrail.tumblr.com/). Written for the prompt "There’s a man made of shadows, and Sam sees him when he sleeps." Really hope you like it!

Sam doesn't dream. Not anymore.

He likes it better this way. There was a time when laying his head down on the pillow and closing his eyes was a full-scale battle of will, fighting down the part of his subconscious eager to paint the inside of his head with pain and fear.

But in a twist of irony that Sam was not keen to question, ever since the Cage he’s woken up feeling rested and free of nightmares. No more cold sweats, crying out, or sleepless nights. Sometimes he wakes up with a strange ache inside of him that he can’t place, but it fades away quickly and so he ignores it. He’s had little use for superstition of late.

He lays his head down at eleven sharp; normally he might consider visiting a bar, picking someone up to fill the other half of the bed. But this hunt took him to the middle of nowhere, a run-down hotel miles away from anything resembling civilized entertainment. With nothing better to do, Sam decides to settle for sleeping alone. Without Dean's constant and familiar presence on the other side of the room for the past couple months, he's had time to adjust to it.

It used to be that falling asleep was an ordeal. He closes his eyes and the next minute he's gone.

Being broken has its benefits.

 

* * *

 

 

There's no fire or brimstone. No hooks or knives or tables. Maybe there had been at first, but that was centuries ago and Sam was inclined to forget if not forgive. He’s existed here for centuries now. Time seems like a funny idea anymore; the Cage warps and stretches it like taffy, spiraling through decades in the course of a single afternoon.

Now he opens his eyes on a wide and endless plain, the grass blue and the sky dark and featureless. As he watches, a crack of lightning shoots down from the horizon and strikes the earth with a shudder. Sam thinks it might be Michael, keeping his distance for now. Adam is nowhere to be seen.

 

When he turns around, there's a pillar of darkness looming over him that rises like a tidal wave about to break on his head. The darkness leans down instead, resolving itself into a shape that hurts Sam's eyes when he can't look away. The outline of enormous wings blends with the backdrop of the sky as the creature's face—or one of them—leans down to regard Sam with amusement.

Hello, Sam.

He's not afraid. He's forgotten what fear tastes like, how a heart would beat in his chest or the air might stiffen in his lungs. Those were ripped away from him a long time ago, and now he's nothing but thoughts and impressions. He stares back up at it calmly.

Come to revisit your favorite chew toy? Hundreds of years in the Cage may have stripped a lot from him, but he clings to sarcasm like it's his last tie to humanity.

The figure crouches down on its heels and cocks its head to the side. I thought you preferred my company.

Well I'm not exactly flush with options here, now am I?

Sam... Lucifer doesn't speak with a voice, but it still sounds sad. As if Sam had the power to bend the emotion of a god. Let's not argue. There's no point to it anymore.

There Sam has no rebuttal. For the first few hundred years after he fell into the Pit, every moment was agony. His soul was ripped into again and again in fits of rage, torn and battered and broken in the midst of the archangel’s struggle. But things changed. Michael and Lucifer stopped fighting.

He settles down onto the grass. His soul has taken the shape of his body on Earth, more out of habit than anything else. The grass beneath him feels like strips of velvet and the prickle of skin in the cold. The scenery of the Cage is as ever-changing as the surface of an ocean, rising into inverted mountains and dissolving into an empty void. He had asked Lucifer about it a few years ago. He said that before, the Cage had been barren and empty. But between the two human imaginations now trapped inside, the archangels could shape new landscape out of the humans’ thoughts and memories.

What is this place? he asks idly, plucking a strand and watching it disintegrate into raw potentiality. Lucifer settles down on the stretch of grass a few feet away, the massive bulk of his body seeming to weigh the ground down.

A place of my design, Lucifer replies. I saw it in your dreams.

I don't remember it. Sam remembers how cold he had felt with Lucifer inside him, freezing tendrils stabbing into his skin and eyes and teeth. In the Cage it’s different; there’s no heat or cold here, but Lucifer seems to emit some aura that made Sam's nonexistent nerves buzz.

They speak no more that night. After so long, there’s little more to say.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam wakes up as he always does: with a jolt, like he’d been falling. He greets the familiar twinge in a part of him that doesn’t exist, but something else is different. Still no dreams, but sometimes he feels… no, it’s just sentimentality. Something he no longer tolerates. Climbing out of bed, he heads for the shower. The hunt never ends.

 

* * *

 

 

Is that what you really look like? Sam cranes his incorporeal neck back to stare up at Lucifer’s face. The light from two separate suns beats down on them like a hammer on an anvil, boring into his eyes. High above, Lucifer regards him curiously.

As close as you would be able to perceive it. Even without the limits of human eyes, there are some things you were never meant to comprehend.

Like what? Sam knows he’s being stubborn, but he’s not about to stop.

Lucifer ruffles the fringe of his wings and settles into a different position, like watching half of a mountain shift in a mud slide. Cosmic wavelengths. The paradox on my left hip. Temporal distortions eddying around my wings. Your awareness is too simple to grasp them.

Well maybe it’s your fault for being overcomplicated, Sam shoots back.

Lucifer doesn’t respond immediately, but he looks thoughtful. Sam thinks he’s going to continue ignoring him when suddenly the shape beside him begins to change again; this time it’s like watching ice melt, the shadowy mass condensing and collapsing until it’s about the size of a man, sitting on the grass a few feet away. Sam raises what amounted to an eyebrow.

I would have thought you’d find a human form disgusting.

Humans themselves are flawed. Your physical shape is not inherently corrupted, and does have its own…practicality. Sam looks more closely at the figure across from him; Lucifer’s body is still dark and hard to see, like shadows or blots on paper, but he can sometimes recognize features shifting in the mass; it looks not dissimilar to himself, in a lot of ways.

Yours is one of the more perfected shapes, Lucifer explains, inspecting the back of his hand.

Sam snorts. I wish you wouldn’t read my mind.

You have no secrets from me, Sam. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

That’s not very comforting. Truthfully he doesn’t care. He thinks he sees a cool smile touch Lucifer’s lips, but it’s gone before he could be sure.

On the red horizon a crackle emerges, the sky buckling and shaking like a tattered flag in the wind. Something that could be a sandstorm approaches from the distance. Maybe it’s a shockwave.

Lucifer stands. Michael is coming. In the span of a thought he’s a hundred stories high again, his head lifted towards the coming storm. Sam steps back. He’s learned long ago not to interfere.

 

* * *

 

 

There are others now. The Campbells, his distant relatives, accessories to the hunt. After a while they stop asking questions about why he is how he is, and accept that ruthlessness is efficient enough to justify.

“What were you dreaming about?” Gwen asks him one day when he lifts his head from the table where he passed out the night before.

He looks her in the eye. “I don’t dream,” he says with a shrug.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

For some reason, Sam feels unnerved. From then on he resolves not to think about it at all.

 

* * *

 

 

I should be thanking you.

Sam looks up in surprise. Lucifer looks vaguely human again, his legs dangling off the edge of the motel counter where Sam had spent a week while Dad was on a hunt. In some ways the memory is startlingly real—he had forgotten that the pattern of water stains on the ceiling tiles looked like a stegosaurus, except apparently he hadn’t. But other parts of it were mal-formed and shapeless where they were fading from his mind.

What would you possibly have to thank me for? Sam asks, leaning on the counter and inspecting the archangel critically. These talks had become a regular feature in the times when Lucifer was feeling more amicable.

You changed things when you came here. Adam as well.

What do you mean?

Lucifer pauses. Things in the Cage are not prone to change. It stagnates us. He shakes his head. Humanity never could be satisfied with standing still. You and your half-brother are a catalyst. I can feel things shifting, even now. He lifts his head like he’s sniffing the air, sampling whatever change he claimed to be able to sense.

Sam shrugs. I don’t feel anything.

Of course you don’t. You’re human. You wouldn’t sense a metaphysical occurrence if it beat you over the head.

Thanks.

Yes. Lucifer smiles ironically and Sam hides a smirk.

What kind of change are we talking about here? Sam asks. Lucifer shrugs, but his eyes are piercing as they watch him.

Michael and I were meant to battle each other for the rest of eternity. And yet, we are not. Based on your uncanny personal history with undoing destiny, I think you might have a hand in it. He shrugs noncommittally. So, thank you.

Sam isn’t sure what to say, and so he says nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean is back in the game. This changes things, and not for the better. Sam has to be more careful, try to keep his eyes wider and kinder, ask what’s wrong when he doesn’t care. Sometimes Dean looks at him strangely, but Sam can just see the struggle inside of him, the desire to believe that just once things are okay. Sam exploits it.

 

* * *

 

 

I’m sorry.

Lucifer’s words surprise Sam more than his sudden presence do. He’s been watching Adam, who hasn’t spoken a word in two hundred years. He wades through a pond aimlessly, his fingers trailing over the tops of the water. Sam thinks maybe letting go was the smarter option. Staying is so much harder.

He turns to face the shadowy figure, condensed to the shape of a man. You’ll have to be a bit more specific. There’s a lot you could be apologizing for.

Lucifer is quiet. There’s something about him that’s on edge. Maybe even afraid. This isn’t what I wanted.

He doesn’t say anything else, and the next time Sam looks he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a lost cause, and it’s no surprise when Dean eventually finds out. As expected, his next crusade is one to recover Sam’s soul. He watches Dean’s efforts with detached interest. The pains every morning are stronger and last longer. He ignores them.

 

* * *

 

 

Something is happening to me. Sam flexes his shoulders and winces as an ache that feels uncomfortably corporeal shoots through him. He’s been feeling them for a while, shooting through his soul like growing pains or the feeling of being stretched. It’s like I’m being pulled towards something, I don’t know what.

Lucifer observes him like a doctor watching a patient, carefully detached. They’ve said nothing of his previous outburst. He’s coming for you. Or he will be soon. I’ve sensed it for a while now.

Sam turns to look at him, the strange shadow-shape having become an oddly familiar sight. Who is?

Lucifer smiles wryly. Death, he says. Again.

Sam could have laughed. That would be a lot more worrying if I wasn’t already dead.

He’s going to pull you out. Lucifer climbs to his feet and begins pacing, his incorporeal hands clasped behind his back, restless. Sam watches him and doesn’t believe. Thousands of years he’s languished in the Cage, with the whole of eternity to look forward to. Michael and Lucifer hadn’t battled in millenia, and the terrain had largely stabilized into a patchwork of dreams and memories. Adam had wandered off into a forest where the roots tangled with the sky and the leaves sprung out of the ground, and Michael had soon followed after. It had been fifteen years since Sam had seen either of them.

Sam shook his head. Without the seals, there’s no escaping the Cage. You said so yourself. It was made by God with the express purpose of being impregnable.

There are older and more powerful things than my father, Lucifer said, idly twiddling a twig between his fingers. Death is one of them. He has the power.

Sam sat up. The trees surrounding them were tall and silent. The only wind in that place came from angel’s wings. You actually believe this. He was still more amused than anything.

Lucifer didn’t respond. He turned to look at Sam, his eyes scanning him with an expression Sam couldn’t place.

It won’t be long now, he said eventually, turning away. Sam climbed to his feet and looked at him quizzically.

Lucifer. The angel didn’t respond. He reached out and, after a moments deliberation, touched his shoulder; the shadows seemed to coil under his palm, sending pins and needles up his arm. It’s the first time Sam has touched him out of anything but fear or rage. Lucifer turned back towards him and he let his hand fall.

You can’t be serious. Still Lucifer said nothing. He turned and walked a few paces away, rolling his shoulders casually and avoiding Sam’s gaze.

You had best begin preparing yourself. The transition will undoubtedly be… jarring. And with that, Lucifer vaulted into the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

The panic room. Tied down. He doesn’t want this. It’s easier when he’s broken.

 

* * *

 

 

Lucifer finds him sitting by a lake as flat and clear as glass. Sam stares out over its surface without really seeing it and tries to come to terms with the tugging at his core. It’s gotten stronger and stronger as the days go on, to the point where he feels like he could almost twitch a phantom limb, open his earthly eyes. He doesn’t try.

The angel’s presence behind him is a familiar tingle on his back. He doesn’t turn to look or acknowledge him for a while.

I can hardly even remember what the real world was like. Sam’s hands tighten into fists. It’s been thousands of years… how can I possibly go back to it now?

Lucifer has no answer. There’s a shifting as he settles down beside Sam, a shadowy form within arm’s reach. He sits quietly, waiting for Sam to continue. He turns to look into the angel’s borrowed face.

You know part of me will always hate you. Lucifer nods, accepting. But I’ve also spent more time with you than any other being in the universe. So that kind of complicates things.

Lucifer looked at him strangely. Do you want to stay?

No. Yes. I’m not sure. Sam sighs. I don’t know what I want. But as usual, it looks like I’m not getting a say.

They sit quiet for a while as the feeling keeps building in Sam’s core.

Your soul is broken, Sam, Lucifer says slowly. The only thing holding it together now is the Cage, and me. And once those are gone, I don’t know what will happen. You may remember things differently, on the other side.

I’ll remember this, Sam says, the pressure mounting as he speaks. Even after all these years, empty promises still come easily to him. Lucifer only nods. He can appreciate the value of a lie even if he doesn’t tell them himself.

I would have preferred it if things had gone differently. Lucifer’s words hang in the air between them, saying so little but meaning so much. After a moment, Sam’s hand slides up to clasp his shoulder. Lucifer reaches out, a slow, tentative gesture, and places his hand over Sam’s heart. A feeling spreads out from it like the opposite of going numb; a prickle of sensation that travels through his whole body. It grounds him there for a moment as the tug towards his body gets stronger and stronger, fighting Lucifer’s hold on him. Sam’s hand squeezes tighter on his shoulder, agony building in every fiber of his being. It’s like he’s being ripped apart, the hand on his heart the last thing holding him there. Sam looks into the angel’s eyes for one last despite second; there’s a feeling like his chest is being carved open, and then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t remember.

There’s a lot Dean doesn’t tell him, and that’s fair. Sam has secrets of his own. Like the way he wakes up feeling pins and needles all over his body, the dreams he knows he has but can never seem to remember. Or the fact that sometimes he glimpses something in his shadow that makes his heart beat faster. Most of all he doesn’t tell Dean about the ghost of a handprint burned into the skin on his chest, faint and painless but undeniably real.

Sam closes his eyes, and dreams.


End file.
